Painting Your New Masterpiece
by ckeller48
Summary: Future fic; Quinn and Santana are married and Santana sees her life transform into one of motherhood while still holding onto the best part of her week: her Sundays with Quinn.


Painting Your New Masterpiece

I wake up feeling more refreshed than I could remember feeling in months. My body feels light as I stretch my rejuvenated limbs and crack my eyes open to look at the clock. Eight o'clock. I try to think about what time I fell asleep and it had been a little after eleven. Why hadn't I been up at all?

The bed next to me is empty and cold, meaning that Quinn had already been up for a while. I give myself one minute of peaceful silence in our bed before I drag myself up to start the day. After a quick shower, I change into a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans before heading down the hall to find you.

What I'm rewarded with is the sight of you sitting at your desk with the snuggler looped around you. From the doorway I can see the tiniest little fist swinging free of the restraint as you type away at your laptop.

I pad across the room, my bare feet quiet against the thick carpet. You're so absorbed in your work that you don't even seem to notice I'm behind you until I lean down to kiss your cheek. You nuzzle into my touch and I reach over your shoulder to offer my pinky to the little fist, stroking the incredibly soft skin and watching it ease open to grasp my finger.

"Did she sleep through the night?" I ask quietly and you let your hands drop from their position against the keyboard to spin in your chair so that you're facing me.

You shake your head with a small sigh. I notice the bags under your eyes as I gaze down at your face. Despite your obvious exhaustion, you're still just as beautiful as you were at sixteen.

"It was my turn for the 2 a.m. feeding," I remind her quietly, feeling guilty that she obviously got no sleep while I got a solid nine hours without interruption.

"My boobs were screaming anyway so I fed her and pumped the rest. She slept for a few hours after that but I had a great idea for the book and I wanted to get it down before it slipped away."

I smile at you, wanting to show you how grateful I was for a full night's rest. It was definitely the first one I'd had since our daughter had been born. You tilt your chin up and I swoop down to kiss your lips tenderly before pulling the baby loose from the snuggler and holding her to my chest. She's warm and she cuddles into me with a sigh.

"Get your work done, you crazy fool," I tease, kissing your cheek once more before leaving you alone in your office.

I place Alexis on her blanket that is spread out on the living room floor and pull the floor mobile over so it's dangling above her. She reaches for it, gurgling happily to herself. I sneak off to the kitchen to make myself some tea. When I get back to the living room, she's still playing happily and I flip on the TV while sipping my tea. I miss coffee desperately, but we made a pact that I wouldn't drink it until you were allowed to again. It's been a year and I've adjusted the more mellow taste of tea, but it doesn't give me the jolt of caffeine like coffee does in the morning.

When I finish my tea, I scroll through our Netflix account and turn on an old episode of Scrubs before picking up Alexis and cuddling her into me as I lounge on the couch. It would be the perfect lazy Sunday morning if only you were relaxing with us.

Alexis gets fussy in the middle of the third episode and I realize I'm also really hungry. I can hear you tapping away furiously at your keyboard still, so I pull a bottle from the refrigerator and heat it gently, testing it on the inside of my arm before settling in on the couch with our daughter again.

She's a great eater and gets annoyed when I pull the bottle away just long enough to burp her before putting it back within her reach. You venture out of your office just as she is slurping the last few drops and you giggle at her enthusiasm for food.

My stomach growls loudly and I rub circles on our little girl's back and you grin at me, your face painted in complete happiness.

"I'll make us some breakfast," you announce, turning for the kitchen as I finish burping the baby.

Alexis spits up and it dribbles down the shoulder of my shirt and on the front of her purple monkey pajamas, so I walk down into the nursery to change her and stop in our bedroom to pull on another clean shirt before meeting you in the kitchen.

A stack of pancakes sits on a plate next to the stove and you hum as you flip the two that are sizzling on the pan. I hold Alexis in one arm and wrap my hand around your waist, dropping a kiss to your neck. You shrink away from me, giggling because my lips tickle against your skin and shoo me away with the task of setting the table.

Alexis sits in her car seat on the tabletop as we eat, gurgling against the fist she has shoved in her mouth. You tell me about the new chapters you wrote in the wee hours of the morning and ask for my opinions. As usual, I assure you that your work is amazing. That's because it is, Quinn. The way you can use words to paint a story is one of your biggest talents. Your ability to get Alexis to settle down when she's wailing is still the most impressive though.

The baby falls asleep while we finish eating. She's so peaceful in the carrier that you just pick it up and move it into the living room. I'm grateful that we both left our laptops in the office for once and for the baby napping because it gives us time to focus only each other. It's something we've done so little of since Alexis was born and as much as I unconditionally love our daughter, I miss having you all to myself on Sunday mornings like I used to.

You seem to feel the same way as you move closer to me on the couch, pressing me back against the cushions and snuggling up in the crevice between me and the back of couch. It's a tight squeeze, but having you this close in a peaceful moment is such a nice change from the usual handoff of a crying infant as we both try to get ready to tackle a busy day or taking turns being up in the middle of the night for feedings, leaving the other to snuggle a pillow instead of a warm body.

I feel the silence surround us and your body relaxes against me, your breathing deep and even. I reach my hand over to stroke your cheek and your hair, letting the silky blonde strands slip through my fingers. You haven't gotten it cut in a while; it's probably one of the many things that you've forgotten to cross off your to-do list now that Alexis' needs always come first. Your longer hair makes you look older despite the fact that the rest of you has resisted aging. It's impossible to tell that you have been pregnant twice when your figure still matches that of your teenage self. Part of me is jealous of how little you've aged since high school, but I've watched as you pushed yourself through hard hours at the gym with the reminder of your middle school weight gain constantly nudging you in the back of your mind.

I've let myself go slightly since college, a few pounds finding their way onto my naturally slim frame. I pinch at the fat on my sides in the full-length mirror as I shimmy into my tight business suits in the morning and you always calmly move my hands away and rub your fingers soothingly along my skin. The image of your porcelain hand against my mocha tone is like perfect contrast and I watch as you tighten your grip, reminding me how much you love my curves and kissing my cheek quickly before scurrying off to pick out your clothes for the day.

Some things haven't changed since Alexis arrived nearly four months ago. You're still the most beautiful woman I know and having a baby has only added to it. Even though you gave up your job as an editor so you could stay at home with the baby, you're still passionate and hardworking, spending your energy on your own writing instead and caring for our daughter during the long hours that I'm at work. You still notice the little things and always manage to ease my stress without me ever having to tell you what's wrong. You know me better than I know myself sometimes.

You fall asleep with your head on my chest, napping while the baby does. It's a habit we picked up when we took maternity leave together for the first ten weeks of our daughter's life. You didn't sleep all night and I'm content to close my eyes and enjoy the silence and warmth that fills the room. I stroke your hair absentmindedly, letting my thoughts drift to what the future holds.

Ten years ago after you got over your gay panic and _finally _kissed me, I never imagined it would lead to all of this. We were in college and lived in a fantasy world. Real life set in shortly after graduation when I got into law school and you started your MFA. Money was tight without all the support from our parents and we lived in a tiny studio apartment with only one closet for both of us to share. We fought the most during that first year of living together, our strong-willed personalities butting heads more than we'd like to admit. But we always found a way to make up and, eventually, it wasn't as hard to co-exist peacefully. It was then that I started to realize that maybe this thing with you really could survive anything.

I proposed and made a fool of myself in the process, crying in the middle of Central Park when I forgot the speech I had planned. But you accepted, your own tears streaking down your face as you pulled me to my feet and kissed me so hard that I stumbled backwards.

Now it's not just the two of us taking Manhattan by storm. Having Alexis brought a whole new reality of having someone so perfect depending on us to keep her safe and help her grow. My thoughts about our future before had always involved images of us taking fantastic vacations filled with tons of passionate sex and of being completely badasses in our careers.

Now, I see a little girl running off the bus with a giant backpack after her first day of school, her hazel eyes gleaming with excitement. I see us taking our daughter shopping for her prom dress after a boy or girl asks her to go. I imagine us worrying the first time she breaks curfew or comes home drunk. I see the billowing gown as she marches confidently across the stage to accept her diploma when she graduates at the top of her class just like her mom did. My heart aches for the times that she calls crying from college when she's stressed out and homesick. I flutter at the thought of watching her walk down the aisle towards her own soulmate and getting to dance with her at the reception, reminding her how proud I am of her every single day.

I'm sure that my thoughts of the future will change if or when we decide to expand our family. I'm sure there will be so many twists and turns for us. But the future isn't a scary unknown like it was when we were sixteen. It's full of hope and dreams for everything I want to share with you for the rest of my life.

I'm brought out of my reverie by the tiny whimpers from Alexis and I slip out from under you and scoop her up, holding her warm little body tightly in my arms as I try to soothe her. She settles as I pace, cooing to her quietly the whole time.

When she was born, I was terrified that I wasn't going to be a good mother. I knew nothing about it and my mom spent most of your pregnancy reassuring me that I'd be a natural. But how could I be a natural mom when I wasn't actually having the baby? I shared no biological connection to our beautiful daughter. I couldn't provide her sustenance the way your body automatically did.

It was Alexis herself that reassured me of my ability to be a mom the first time I was able to soothe her after an hour of singing songs and changing her and bouncing her in my arms. Finally she sniffled, her little body tired from the exhaustion and she snuggled even closer to me, letting my warmth lull her into sleep. She challenged me every day, but after that first time, I no longer doubted that I could offer her everything she would need from a mom as she grew up.

I took her into the nursery and sat in the glider, swinging gently and I hummed to her. It was my favorite room in the house with its peaceful green hues and the lingering smell that only babies seem to have. Everything in the room was soft and welcoming and it felt like the perfect place for our baby to grow. The little bookshelf, which was shaped like a tree, was already filled with hundreds of books. While I couldn't stop buying adorable clothes, you couldn't resist buying books. She was too little to understand, but every night we sat with her and you would read, your adorable raspy voice dancing over the words and weaving a wonderful harmony. It was a routine I cherished and one that I knew would continue until she insisted on reading her own nighttime stories.

You read to our baby and I would sing as I made dinner with her strapped against my chest. Sometime she would join in with little gurgles or would kick her feet happily as I sang along with the radio. I sang to her as I changed diapers, making up silly lyrics to fit into the classic children's songs. At night as I put her into her crib, I would sing the Spanish lullabies that my own mother had sung to me every night as she tucked me in.

As the day rolls into the afternoon, you walk into the nursery and smile at us, reaching your arms out to take the baby. I stand up and give you the chair, which you take gratefully as you pull your shirt up to let Alexis get to her favorite source of food. I make a crude joke about your huge boobs and you roll your eyes at me, wincing slightly as Alexis starts sucking. You adjust her in your arms and close your eyes as she feeds and I just watch the two of you, admiring the beautiful moment.

I slip out of the room and tidy up the kitchen and living room before throwing together a light lunch for us and carrying it to the coffee table. When Alexis is fed, the two of you join me and you let her play on the floor as the two of us sit cross-legged beside her. You look refreshed from your nap, the bags under your eyes having faded somewhat. We eat, feeding one another bites as we watch our daughter flail her tiny arms around in the air. She manages to close her fist around one of the dangling pieces of her mobile and we laugh as she tries to pull it closer to her mouth. I can already tell how smart she is and I know that she definitely got that from you, even if we did use anonymous sperm from a medical student that was label A9013 on a website.

The afternoon fades away with us spending quiet time together as a family, interrupted at random intervals by Alexis's needs to be changed and fed. Sometimes I'm pretty sure she just yells because she's bored and wants us to amuse her by making silly faces and rocking her and tickling her tiny little toes. She naps again in the afternoon and we put her in her crib while we settle in to get some work done. I have files I need to go over before court this week and you want to edit the chapters you wrote this morning. Even sitting in our office with the baby monitor propped on my desk and paperwork piled in front of me, I feel relaxed. Your fingers are tapping away at the keys methodically and you bite your lip as you rush to get the words out of your head and onto the screen before they fade. As soon as I wake up tomorrow, I'll be back to exhaustion and stress that comes along with the week ahead, but for now I have a few more hours of peace.

You feed Alexis her dinner while I cook ours. We eat at the table, talking about our schedules for the upcoming week; mine is full of important meetings and court times while yours involves errands and chores, which is no less important and probably more stressful than my job. Weekends and nights are crazy enough with the baby that I'm pretty sure you're a saint for taking it on full time while I'm at the office.

After dinner, we bathe Alexis in her little plastic tub. I wipe her with the soft washcloth and take care to not get soap in her eyes. You snap pictures and laugh when her fist finds the water and she splashes me. When she's done, you wrap her in the adorable little ducky towel that Britt sent us as part of her shower gift and smother her clean, warm cheeks with kisses. You walk into the nursery to pick a book from Alexis's shelves while I pop some classical music into the cd player. The soothing tones fill the living room and you return with our daughter in one arm and two books clenched in your other hand. We snuggle up on the couch together, Alexis switching from your arms to mine so that you can flip the pages as you read. I close my eyes and let the words wash over me, filling me with warmth as the love that you add to each syllable. When you finish the second book, you walk with me to the nursery and I change her diaper as I sing softly. I can feel your eyes on me from where you are leaning against the doorframe and I walk towards you as I finish the song. You bend down to kiss Alexis's forehead and whisper your little reminders of your love for her. I carry her to the crib and do the same before placing her gently inside. You turn on the small lamp on the dresser and hit the switch for the overhead light. You hold out your hand to me and I take it, letting you lead me out of the room, shutting the door behind us.

It's only eight and I'm exhausted. Dread for the upcoming week settles into my limbs as I think about the long hours in the office when I'd rather be home with you and Alexis. Somehow, you know as soon as my mind turns and you wrap your arms around my waist, holding me close and telling me how much you will miss me while I'm working tomorrow. We go through the motions of getting our Sunday evening chores done: you cleaning up the kitchen and me paying the bills and making the week's shopping list. When I finish, I throw my pen down triumphantly and you laugh at my dramatic flair before walking over and sitting down on my lap.

I melt at the feeling of your arms slung around my neck, just like I have every time you've done it in the last ten years. It's so simple compared to so many other shows of affection that we've shared over the years, yet nothing makes me feel so grounded as the tickling of your fingers on the back of my neck as you cradle my head.

You kiss me, starting with chaste pecks and building slowly, your tongue peeking out to drag along my lip before disappearing again. I catch your lower lip between my teeth and nip lightly, causing you to tighten your grip on my neck and pulling me impossibly closer. Your kisses haven't changed; they still are the perfect mix of passionate and gentle, rough and teasing. I find comfort in how we can move together like it's a seamless dance of emotions. I feel excited by how you always manage to keep me on my toes, never falling into the same patterns. Your mouth reads mine and responds to my needs; somehow it manages to squash my anxieties, ease my pain, and ignite my passion simultaneously. I'll never get tired of this feeling.

Eventually we break apart and your chest heaves as you try to regain your breath. Your lips are reddened and clash with your pale skin and it takes all my effort to not pull your mouth back down onto mine. It's getting late and Alexis will have me up again in a few hours. Reluctantly, you get up from my lap and we start in on our nightly routines.

I'm in bed reading on my Kindle with my glasses perched on my nose. You've pumped a couple of bottles so I can feed Alexis during the night and you change into flannel pajama pants and pull on an extra-large Budweiser t-shirt that I got free at some event during my college years at U of L. I drop the Kindle onto the nightstand as you climb into bed beside me and I rest back against my pillows as you cuddle in tightly against me, peppering kisses along my jaw line.

Our Sundays have changed drastically from drinking cheap beer with friends in college, to staying up all night to study for law school, to quiet afternoons lost in one another and never leaving the bed, to quenching your pregnancy cravings by running to the supermarket to buy an endless supply of ice cream and pickles, to days like today where I get to hold our beautiful baby girl. The only thing that has never changed is this: crawling in bed together, spending our last few waking moments just enjoying one another's company before another busy week takes over. It's in these moments that we confide our deepest fears and our largest dreams. It was in one of these moments that we decided to move to New York together. It was another Sunday night, years later, that we started trying to get pregnant. It was a Sunday the first night that Alexis was home from the hospital and we watched over her bassinet as she slept. If I never get anything else in life, I'll be happy to always have our Sunday nights.


End file.
